A Beating Heart
by Quezacolt
Summary: They were casualties of war. JohnxElizabeth


A beating heart.

Summary: Casualties of war

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A/N: Pre-Ronan and the entire Ford goes crazy. Oh, this was a spur of the moment thing.

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They both shared a secret smile. It wasn't intentional; chances were neither of them knew the bond they so closely shared. He would say something totally inappropriate and the smile would tug at her lips, even though she knew she was meant to be telling him off. She would fight it for a minute, before giving into its power and smiling the smile she reserved only for him. He would see it and respond with a grin of his own which would light up his emotional brown eyes, both losing themselves in the other, the world falling away to reveal only them, him and her, their eyes pools of possibility. And nothing else mattered. But the enchantment was always broken, by a cough, a bang or a voice, the two leaders automatically slipping back into their professional selves, the moment forgotten, each one cursing for their stupidity, John for acting that way in public where anyone could notice, Elizabeth for acting that way all together, for compromising her position, for acting childish and for putting oh-so-many lives in danger. 

They would then glance at each other again, apology written in both of their eyes. People around them who noticed their behavior would remain quiet, pretending they had seen nothing at all. When John was injured, Elizabeth would worry, pace and snap, finally ending as she always did, on the balcony, standing in his spot, her hands where his usually were on the railing, breathing in his scent, no matter if it was all her imagination. Rodney would take up her slack; he would organize everything, occasionally checking on the figure through the plate door, an affectionate big-brother smile on his face. She wouldn't be disturbed on her vigil except by Teyla, who knowing she would never check on the Major herself for seeming unprofessional, for fear someone would work out their close relationship like a puzzle, piecing it together, would pretend to bring her news of the mainland every few hours, carefully slipping in a few hints about the major's condition, to which Elizabeth would always smile her thanks, the bags under her eyes noticeable. Carson would make her sleep, saying she was working too hard, but always knowing she would not sleep easy until John was back from the brink of death.

Ford would arrive to make sure she ate, taking her for long, silent visits to the cafeteria, until he finally realised the only thing he could really do is bring her a plate of food to her office, where she would sit, staring into space and wait until she was back on Atlantis enough to eat, if only a few bites of a turkey sandwich. The cooks on Atlantis always kept some in supply when they knew he was in the infirmary again, just enough to keep her going through the longer days. The scientists would work, their new discoveries written onto a small board for later discussion, when they knew Elizabeth Weir was whole again. Kavanagh would groan and complain, but people had long taken to ignoring him, instead giving him a large project to work on with an impossible deadline, well knowing for the challenge undertaken, he would work to prove something unknown to them all, for days on end if he must, if only to show he was better then any of the others. He hadn't caught onto their plans and they made sure he didn't.

Off world teams would try their best to have safe missions, preferring to have a quiet briefing with only a few words the leader didn't hear, then a long one they knew would take forever, the leader flustered and confused.

Everyone worked together when there was a crisis, Elizabeth would be on automatic, helping everyone out and they respected her for it. She never knew they helped her in the ways they did, for convenience it was never mentioned. When John was awake, the first place he would go was to her office, an apologetic smile on his face as he purposely brushed his hand against her own. They would retreat to the balcony for several long hours of soul searching and deep discussion, when she would bring up his next mission. They would make flippant jokes, ignoring the passion that longed to be released. Instead he would procure a chocolate bar from his private stash and unknown to the others, would sit in his quarters and smile, unashamed to share their special look without disruption. They both know it could go deeper, but they pretend nothing was there, but admitting everything in their eyes. They would share stories from before Atlantis, telling stories they would never admit to anyone else.

She knows he has a scar close to his heart, a helicopter crash he would never dare to forget. She knows he had an abusive father, a drunk for a mother, a younger brother who John never had the chance to see. She knows he is in more pain then he lets on. She knows he will joke when he is afraid. She knows he is afraid something will happen to her. She knows he would rather die then let her go.

He knows she has someone on Earth. He knows she has nightmares of the things that are yet to come. He knows that she loves winter. He knows she was attacked while in another country negotiating, he knows about the bullet scar on her shoulder that she always hides. He knows she hides her blemishes with make-up and he knows she would rather die then lose the bond they share.

The both know if either of them were to reveal they're feelings to anyone else, they would be taken from Atlantis the minute they returned to Earth.

The both know their hearts crumble at the thought of staying away from the other, but they both know it is for a greater good.

They both know what it is to feel their hearts die beneath their fingers.

They both know of a pain that runs deeper then any wound.

More importantly, they both know that together, they are true casualties of war.

And they know one day, the might not be afraid to show it.

Fin.


End file.
